


as long as it takes

by LearnedFoot



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Things Went Worse in FFH, Angst, Angst with a happy-ish ending, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fix-It, Implied Peter Parker/Quentin Beck, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-16
Updated: 2019-09-16
Packaged: 2020-10-18 17:17:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,402
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20642825
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LearnedFoot/pseuds/LearnedFoot
Summary: Tony expected a lot of reactions to his sudden reappearance. But what he didn’t expect was Peter greeting him with less than pure, blinding enthusiasm. He certainly didn’t expect sunken eyes and a hollow smile, a body that flinches in his arms, draws back from his hug trembling and unsure.





	as long as it takes

**Author's Note:**

  * For [pleurer](https://archiveofourown.org/users/pleurer/gifts).

> Hi! This is the latest of treats, but it just kind of came to be in a flash and, well, you’re awesome and deserve good things so here, have it! Please excuse the very, very last minute nature of it.
> 
> CNTW because there is implied sexual assault (at least) in the background, but it is not explicit at all. Peter is in his senior year—so 17 if you believe his statements in _FFH_, or 18 if you prefer to follow actual logic.

Tony expected a lot of reactions to his sudden reappearance: joy, confusion, maybe even skepticism from certain parties. He’s not offended when Fury, apparently recently returned from a trip to space, wants to poke and prod, or when Strange gives him a magical checkup. Pepper deciding their marriage should remain over, death did them part and it’s for the best, hurts, but he can’t say he didn’t see it coming: the glue holding the shaky structure of their relationship together in those last few years was despair for a tragedy that’s been reversed.

But what he didn’t expect was Peter greeting him with less than pure, blinding enthusiasm. He certainly didn’t expect sunken eyes and a hollow smile, a body that flinches in his arms, draws back from his hug trembling and unsure.

“Kid, are you okay?” he asks.

Peter’s mouth stretches, grin widening, which somehow makes it even less convincing. “Yeah, of course. You’re back! It’s amazing, why wouldn’t I be okay?”

“I don’t know, that’s why I’m asking.”

But Peter just shakes his head, insists he’s fine. Tony doesn’t believe it, but he kind of has his own shit going on. He doesn’t push.

***

He does, however, learn everything he can about what happened in the year he was gone, and especially with that fucking asshole, Beck. Reads mission reports and newspaper articles. Watches the recorded SHIELD debrief, Peter’s eyes rimmed red, his answers straightforward but sullen, clipped when discussing how he got hit by a train. Talks to Happy, who describes Peter on the plane, wild and disbelieving and shaken to the core.

Wonders: _what exactly happened in Berlin?_

***

Two weeks later, Peter is still recoiling from even the most minor touch. Tony tries to ignore it, but the itching curiosity—_why?_—builds to a boil.

“Whoa there, twitchy,” he finally exclaims when Peter practically leaps off his stool at the casual skim of Tony’s hand on his back as he passes behind him in the lab. “Kid, come on, you have to tell me what’s going on with you.”

“No, I don’t, actually.”

It’s snippy and unlike Peter, but it’s also not a denial. Tony calls that progress.

“Fine,” he agrees. “You don’t _have _to do anything. But I’m here if you want someone to talk to.”

Peter eyes him thoughtfully, then nods. “I know,” he says quietly, and turns back to his work.

Tony watches him for a few moments before doing the same, trying to convince himself it doesn’t hurt to be shoved away, closed out, maybe even unwanted. That not being allowed to touch doesn’t make him want to do just that: run his hands through that floppy hair, which is getting ridiculously long, pull Peter to his chest, hold him until he melts, finally relaxed. Finally happy.

Maybe then Tony could relax, too.

***

Tony has pretty much given up on Peter taking him up on his offer when he gets the call.

It’s Friday night and so far past the time Peter should reasonably be calling Tony picks up in a panic, convinced he must be lying in a ditch somewhere, or maybe kidnapped. Instead, what he hears on the other end is the wobbly, slurred voice of someone who has had too much to drink. The buzz of panic morphs into the dull thud of a deeper concern.

“Kid, where are you? Is everything alright?”

“No.” One word, so heart-rending Tony almost drops his phone, letting out a sound somewhere between a huff and a yell. “I mean yes! Like, physically. Sorry, don’t worry, Mr. Stark, really, seriously, I’m okay, I’m just…” There’s something Tony’s pretty sure is a sniffle. “You know how you said I could talk to you? I’m kind of freaking out right now. Are you home?”

“I am, but it doesn’t sound like you should be coming to me. Or moving at all. Stay where you are.”

***

Where Peter is turns out to be a football field in Queens. Tony finds him lying on the grass near the center, staring up at the few stars managing to poke their way through the clouds and light pollution. His limbs are sprawled in the dramatic gesture of someone young and drunk and feeling sorry for themselves. It would make Tony laugh if his heart weren’t so busy being broken. 

He lies down next to him. The grass is damp, poking through his thin shirt. He turns his head to face Peter, whose profile stands out even in the dim light. “Hey, kid. Have a bit too much to drink?”

Peter nods, continuing to stare straight up. He’s silent for a long time. Tony lets him be, turning to face the sky, too.

“Before I went to Europe last summer, all I wanted was to kiss this girl, MJ,” Peter finally says, which feels random, but Tony doesn’t question it. He acknowledges he’s listening with a quiet hum. “I had this whole stupid plan, and I guess maybe it would’ve worked because she seemed into me, except after everything with Beck I was too freaked out to even talk to her, or anyone. And then tonight we were at this party and she tried to kiss me and, and I couldn’t—I couldn’t even breathe, I couldn’t see straight, I literally ran until I collapsed. Seriously, that party is like a mile away. And I don’t understand—I mean, I _do_, I get what’s happening, but I hate it. I hate it Mr. Stark! He’s gone and it still feels like he’s winning.”

Tony sucks in as much cool night air as possible while the football field warps around him, a hot flash of anger tearing through his veins. He wishes Beck was alive so he could kill him again. How dare he, how _dare _he take someone so precious and strong and wonderful and—

Yeah, Tony would rip him to shreds. He tries to think of something, anything, to say, but comes up blank.

If Peter minds his silence, it doesn’t stop him from barreling on. “It’s even worse with you,” he says, and Tony is startled into looking back over. A glint on his cheek suggests tears. It takes all of Tony’s admittedly unimpressive willpower not to reach out and wipe them away. “You being back is the best thing, sir. The _best _thing. I missed you so much, and I’m so, so, so happy you’re alive again but—” He cuts off with a gasp, throwing his arm over his face. He says something else, but it’s muffled and indistinct.

“I didn’t catch that, kid,” Tony prods, speaking as gently as he can with his throat closing up, fingers of panic creeping across his chest. He’s not entirely sure he wants to hear why it’s worse with him. Suspects he might know the answer, and is afraid he’s right.

Peter shifts his arm to uncover his mouth, but keeps it over his eyes as he explains, “He looked like you, Mr. Stark. When he—he used his illusion tech to look like you. I knew it wasn’t, I _know _it wasn’t, and all I want, sir, _all _I want is to be able to hug you without freaking out. I’m sorry, you didn’t do anything and I feel like I’ve made it weird and—” He bolts upright and hunches over his knees with a sob. “I’m sorry, I’m _sorry_, you shouldn’t have to deal with this, not when you—I’m so sorry.”

He heaves and shakes, refusing to look up even when Tony sits next to him, hand hovering above his back, not quite sure if touching will make it better or worse. Tony scrambles for words, brain a screeching racket of rage and sorrow. This is exactly, _exactly _what he’d thought and he doesn’t know what to do—

He wants to make it better, and he has absolutely no idea how.

“I don’t mind,” he offers. “Correction: I mind that it happened. I mind that a lot. I’m currently considering if it’s worth it to resurrect the guy just to kill him again, and I’m coming down pretty firmly on the side of ‘yes.’ But you shouldn’t be apologizing to me. You haven’t—you know you didn’t do anything wrong, right?” He almost adds _It’s not your fault_, but that feels cliché.

Peter paws at the grass, fingers digging into the dirt and coming out stained. “I know. I know that.” His breath hitches. “But I just feel like—how am I supposed to be a hero, when I can’t even handle this? How am I supposed to live up to…” He turns his head enough for bleary eyes to blink at Tony. “I guess now that you’re back I don’t have to live up to anything anymore. That’s good. I think you picked the wrong guy, Mr. Stark.”

Tony feels like the bottom has dropped out of the field, stomach swooping with the disorienting realization that he’s responsible for some of this, that Peter had taken Tony’s faith in him and turned it into a burden.

His fingers flutter and flex, longing to curl around the back of that neck, reassuring. “I didn’t. Peter, I didn’t pick wrong.”

Peter smiles weakly, and goes back to plucking the grass. After a few moments he says, “You can touch me, Mr. Stark. If you want. I would—please? I wanna try.”

It scares Tony a little how eager he is to comply with the request, placing his hand carefully on Peter’s back. Peter tenses under the touch, but he doesn’t move.

“Is this okay?” Tony asks, and Peter nods. Tentatively, Tony slides his hand up until his fingers get lost in the prickly hairs at the base of Peter’s neck. He scratches at them; Peter shivers, but doesn’t protest.

“Thanks,” he says quietly.

“Any time.” Tony searches for something to say, scrolling back through the conversation for somewhere to go that isn’t _What exactly did that bastard do to you? _or _Why me? Why did he look like me?_ He doesn’t need to know the answer to the first, not right now, and he’s pretty sure he already knows the answer to the second. This isn’t the moment to deal with everything contained there. Instead, he settles on, “Did I ever tell you I get panic attacks?”

“What?” Peter eyes him, skeptical. “No.”

Tony smooths messy curls out of his face, clenched weight in his chest unfurling when Peter leans into the touch instead of away. “Oh yeah, big time. It got really bad after the attack on New York. Full PTSD. I once ran away from a child over it. Kid wanted an autograph, I broke his crayon.”

“Seriously?” Peter looks like he doesn’t believe it. “Are you lying to make me feel better?”

“Hell no.” Tony reaches into his pocket with his free hand, pulling out his phone and offering it up. “Call Happy, he’ll tell you.”

Peter giggles, swatting the phone away, protesting that he’s not going to call Happy at two in the morning. Tony realizes it’s the first time he’s heard Peter’s laugh since…fuck. For over five years. He’d forgotten how sweet it is, even when it’s blurred at the edges by strain and alcohol.

“Why didn’t you ever tell me, Mr. Stark?”

It’s a good question. Tony shrugs. “I guess I liked having you look up to me,” he admits. “You’re about the one person who knew me at my best without also knowing what a mess I’d been most of my life.” He sighs, moving to give Peter a one-handed shoulder massage. “It was selfish. I’m sorry if I made you think any of this shit is supposed to be easy to handle. It’s not. None of us handle it well, not really. Some of us are worse than others”—he points at himself and mimes drinking—“but it’s not easy for anyone. You’re doing just fine, all things considered. Top of the class.”

Peter doesn’t say anything for a few minutes. Tony focuses on the massage, fingertips dipping into the collar of his shirt to press into muscle. He can feel Peter’s pulse near his neck, running fast and hard. He tries not to think about why, or why his own heart is racing just as fast. Doesn’t linger on the luxury of that soft skin or how badly he longs to feel the wide sweep of Peter’s body under his palm. 

Suddenly, out of nowhere, Peter scoots over, laying his head on his shoulder. Tony immediately adjusts to accommodate, arm curving around his body.

“Thanks, Mr. Stark.” Peter snuggles closer, curling in, nose hitting the side of Tony’s neck. “I don’t want him to win,” he murmurs, sending a wave of pleasure Tony can’t ignore pulsing down his spine as his lips skim his skin. “Do you mind…do you mind just staying like this?”

Hesitant, Tony places the softest kiss he can manage on the top of his head. “No, kid, I don’t mind at all.”

***

Tony wakes to the sound of a bird chirping. He’s covered in dew and grass; Peter’s face is inches from his, eyes already open. He doesn’t remember falling asleep, but they must have at some point, slumped over and limbs tangled. The sun is just barely up, pink glow sweeping across the field, transforming the mundane into magic the way only early morning can.

“Hey, Mr. Stark,” Peter says, hoarse. “I need to get home soon.”

Tony reaches out to brush a piece of grass off Peter’s cheek. Peter cringes, but then grabs Tony’s wrist, pressing hand to skin. Tony’s heart does that thing where it speeds up. He’s going to have to deal with that at some point, but not right now. “Pete…”

“Thanks for last night,” Peter says softly. “I…I really want things to be okay between us.”

“Me too, kid.” Tony traces Peter’s jaw, grabs his chin. “And they will be. I promise. I’m not going anywhere, as long as it takes.”

Peter’s lips twitch into the first genuine smile Tony has seen on his face since he came back to life. “Okay. Okay, cool. In that case, do you want to get breakfast?”

“Yeah.” Tony stands, helping Peter up with him. He brushes dirt and grass from his arms and back, and is relieved when Peter doesn’t flinch or pull away. “Yeah, that sounds like a great start.”

**Author's Note:**

> Re-dated because this was an exchange fic, and now authors have been revealed. Sorry if you'd seen it already!
> 
> As always, feedback is very much appreciated and cherished.


End file.
